Last night my strong, handsome husband was in Dallas for the evening working, so Yours Truly was left all by her lonesome.
I've already given you a beautifully detailed word-picture of the evening's first events, so we'll speed right past the unpleasant short person in the coffee shop. I live on the third floor of an apartment building, and as I trudge up the ugly, concrete steps nightly I can hear distant yelps coming from the direction of my apartment. My retarded yorkies. The racket increases as I step through the door and walk through my bedroom to the bathroom door. Here we pause as I take a deep breath, listening to their plaintive cries. I then twist the doorknob, throw the door open, and hurl myself onto the bed. Why do I do this? Because if I don't, within 2 minutes my legs look like a cat-scratch post--used. It doesn't really do much good, as they leap on to the bed with me and cover me with aggressive and slobbery kisses. It typically ends up with me pretending to throw something out the door and exclaiming, "OH!" As soon as their retarded little tails disappear out the door I slam it shut...and then I become the trapped one.
After the mayhem became only a mild disturbance I made my way to the fridge, warmed up some left-over Pappasito's and had me some grub (so much for that whole domestic thing...).
On Wednesday morning I have the great privilege of playing with a bunch of two-year-olds (but I call it teaching when I talk to the Tutor-Tot Mommies). Well, as I looked over my supplies I realized I was lacking a few things for tomorrow's (today's) craft, and I SIGHED with the realization I needed to make a Wal-Mart run.
I locked up the little devils before leaving, grabbed my keys, and left for the store. While I was out I started thinking about the fact that my strong, handsome husband wouldn't be home until after midnight, and I decided I did not want to sit in my lonely apartment with my two retarded doggies all night. No, I was going to DO something!
The next thing I knew I was standing in front of the Arbor theater searching for showings of "Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day." Next showing: 9:30. I looked down at my phone: 9:26. Hurray!
It was the perfect movie to see with me, myself, and I. It's set in London in the 1920's/30's, and I loved seeing all the costumes and hairdos and hearing the accents. It was a silly, silly movie--and I ate it up. I grinned like an idiot through the last line. I even teared up a little when Joe told Miss Pettigrew he'd been looking for her...all his life...
Tonight my hunky husband is home, so what the heck am I doing on the computer?
We'll talk later.